


The Joy of Livin' is Lovin' and Givin'

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary morning for an ordinary couple in 2076. Originally posted <a href="http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6099.html?thread=15631571#t15631571"> on the Fallout Kink Meme.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joy of Livin' is Lovin' and Givin'

It was an unseasonably warm day in November, one of the last nice days before the weather turned and winter began in earnest. The big maple tree out back had dropped the last of its leaves, branches bare against the blue sky, dying grass littered with red and gold leaves. Nora had been up early, restlessly banging pots and pans in the kitchen, tunelessly singing along to the radio. She’d woken Nate, but he didn’t mind. The baby was due the first week of December; it was strange to think that this was one of their last weekends as a couple before Lauren arrived and turned their twosome into a trio.

Nora was skeptical. “You don’t _know_ that it’ll be a girl,” she’d said, exasperated. “How is little Shaun going to feel if you spend the first year of his life calling him the wrong name?”

“Shaun won’t mind,” he countered, “because she’ll be Lauren.”

Nora tsked and returned her attention to the kitchen cabinets, hand on her belly. “Why do we have so much crap?” she said. “I can’t believe this. Who needs this much tupperware?”

“If I recall, you were the one who added it to our wedding registry.”

She said nothing for a moment. “Yes but it was _your_ sister with the damned tupperware parties--”

Nate laughed. “ _That_ is why you’re such a good lawyer,” he said, rising and setting his mug in the sink. “Always shifting the blame.”

“God, don’t talk to me about the firm,” she said. “I just escaped. Don’t make me think about law for another ten months, at least.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “You’re going to miss it, admit it.”

“I’ll admit to no such thing,” she said. “Now quit stalling. Those leaves aren’t going to rake themselves.”

“You could help me, y’know,” he said cheerfully.

“Oh no,” she said. “I have to shave my legs for the Cofran’s dinner party. In my condition--” she patted her belly again, full and round “--that’s at least twice as much work as raking a few leaves.”

“You don’t _have_ to shave your legs,” he said. “Just wear pants.”

“And give Mrs. Cofran the satisfaction of telling everyone that I’ve let myself go? _Never._ Go.” She swatted him with a dish towel, hurrying him towards the door, then stole another kiss. Whistling and in high spirits, Nate went out the door and around the side of the house to the shed in back. He set about raking the leaves, enjoying the sun on his back and the breeze in his hair. Nora opened the bathroom window and chatted as he worked, keeping him company from inside the house.

They passed fifteen minutes pleasantly, trading barbs while he raked and bagged the leaves. He complained good-naturedly about their inequal distribution of labor; she explained, in full detail, why she was no longer welcome at Mrs. Coffran’s weekly bridge games, concluding that Sanctuary Hills simply wasn’t ready for her. Nate stifled his laughter and asked in a mock-serious voice if she was determined to get them driven them out of the neighborhood.

“Not at all,” she said cheerily. “It’s only Mrs. Coffran that’s so insufferable. Mrs. Able and Mrs. Whitfield share my enthusiasm for cherry bombs and smoked salmon.”

His laughter was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and an explosion of swearing from inside the house. “Babe?” he said, dropping the rake. He went to the window and found Nora on her hands and knees, retrieving shards of a broken water glass from under the toilet. “You alright?”

“Fine,” she said, straightening up and tossing the shards into the wastebasket with a resounding _clang_. “I dropped a glass.” She sighed and rubbed her back. “I’m so clumsy like this. I wasn’t kidding when I said that shaving my legs would be as much work as raking.”

“I’ll help you,” he said.

“With what? Shaving?” She said, amused.

“I shave my face every day,” he said. “How different can legs be?”

She looked from him to the razor on the sink, a speculative expression on her face. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, if you insist but--”

“I insist,” he said, “Give me a second, I’ll be right in.”

“My hero,” she said, her tone dry but fond.

Nate picked up the rake and returned it to the shed, glad to leave the raking for another day. He walked back inside and through the house, to the bathroom, and found that Nora had settled herself on the toilet and arranged her shaving implements on the floor, next to a folded towel.

“The towel’s for you to kneel on,” she explained, a little embarrassed to be fussing over him. “For your knee.”

He’d caught shrapnel in his right leg during his tour in Yangtze; fucked up his knee and earned himself a Purple Heart and chronic pain for his trouble. The surgery and brace mostly took care of most of the pain, but kneeling on the cold, tile floor would have caused another flare-up. Two years of marriage, five together, and her thoughtfulness still got to him like it had on their first date. He kissed her, shyly, like he had on that first night, and knelt in front of her, grinning like an idiot. “Thanks, Babe,” he said softly.

“It’s nothing,” she said, color rising in her cheeks. She busied herself rolling up her pants to her knees, and Nate watched her, still smiling.

When she finished, she sat back and wrapped her arms around her belly while he wet her legs with a damp washcloth.

“Is she kicking?”

Nora shook her head. “I think he’s asleep,” she said. “He only kicks at night, anymore.”

“Little rebel,” he said. “Already keeping her mommy up all night.” He shook the shaving cream and squirted a quarter-sized dot into his hand, then looked speculatively at her legs. “Wait, how much do I need?”

“More than that,” she said, laughing. “Come on, I can do this myself.” She took the can from him and bent awkwardly at the waist, managing to smear shaving cream on her pants. “Alright, alright,” she said, “you do it.”

He kissed her knee and worked the cream into a lather between his palms, then ran his hands along her calves, taking the opportunity to caress her. “You’re enjoying this,” she teased.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “You’ve got nice legs.”

“Ha! Now I _know_ you’re bullshitting me. I’ve got tree trunk legs. No one told me my feet and ankles were going to swell.”

“No,” he said, picking up the razor. “They’re nice. I feel like you could crush my head with your thighs. I like it.” He hesitated a moment, and set the razor against her knee gingerly, then drew it down in a short, soft stroke.

She blew a raspberry. “You would,” she said. “And you gotta press harder, hun. You’re not getting any hair, just shaving cream.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, don’t worry.”

He relathered the bald patch and started over, pressing just hard enough to get a few hairs with each pass. He rinsed the razor in the shower between strokes, surprised at the amount of hair that fell out of the blade each time.

“You’ve got really hairy legs,” he said, impressed.

Nora snorted. “Thanks a lot.”

“It’s great,” he said, tapping the razor against the shower wall to dislodge the hair. “If the baby’s a boy--and I’m not saying it will be--I hope he gets your genes. I didn’t have any body hair all throughout high school; the other guys used to make fun of me in the locker room.”

“And if she’s a girl, all the other kids are gonna call her Sasquatch. I speak from experience.”

“Lauren will be a beautiful Sasquatch, just like her mother.”

“Your lines need work,” she said, laughing.

He reached up to kiss her. “Thank god we’re already married,” he said, settling himself back on the towel. “You’re stuck with me, now!”

Nora laughed and told him to get back to work. He complied, frowning in concentration when he reached her ankle, unexpectedly flummoxed by the taut muscle and bony knobs. He was an experienced shaver; his beard had finally come in during college, but legs were trickier than he’d imagined. He only nicked her twice--once on the ankle, once on the knee--but he missed vast swatches of hair. He was disappointed when he toweled her off and got a good look at his handiwork, but she kissed him on the top of the head and told him that he’d done a good job for a first-timer.

“You tried,” she said.

“Praise from Caesar,” he muttered.

Nora patted him on the cheek. “Come on, help me out in the kitchen. I told Mrs. Coffran we’d bring a Jell-O salad.”

Nate shuddered. “This time, don’t put any green olives in it.”

“Come on, it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Nora,” he said, “You’re my wife and I love you, but there is a reason I cook and you do the dishes.”

“I’m a lawyer, not a homemaker,” she said.

“Ha! I told you you’d miss working,” he said. “I win.”

“Nate,” she said, pitching her voice lower to imitate him. “You’re my husband and I love you, but you should shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he said fondly.


End file.
